


Those Poet Johnnies Had it Right

by gracefultree



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 08:12:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4340882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracefultree/pseuds/gracefultree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Those poet johnnies had it right when they talked about love at first sight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Poet Johnnies Had it Right

Those poet Johnnies have it right when they talk about love at first sight. I should know, because the bally affliction afflicti-whatsit-ed me from the first instant of meeting Jeeves.  


Well, not the very first instant, but almost.  


“You’re engaged!” I declared, the first actual words from the Wooster mouth that morning. The bleariness of last night’s drinking expunged by a magical elixir, I felt suddenly wide awake and _boomps-a-daisy._ I looked over to see him doffing his bowler hat revealing dark, slicked-back hair and a crooked nose. It was his eyes, though, that arrested my attention. And his mouth. Have I mentioned his mouth?  


“Thank you, sir. My name is Jeeves.”  


.  


.  


.  


Jeeves was on his knees before me, untying my shoes while I sat on the bed. His touches were proper. Never anything less, and certainly nothing _more_ … and I was getting tired of the cat and mouse looks we’d been giving each other ever since we met. Heated looks. That sideways smirk that set my blood boiling. The minuscule raising of the eyebrows. My sunny grins that seemed to delight him.  


Three months we’d lived together. Three months of testing each other, learning the other’s ways. Three months of torture. There was a lot I was willing to give, if it got him into my bed.  


The only problem was that I would never ask. I couldn’t ask, not with him in my employ.  


And I was starting to realize that he would not offer, on the chance that it would offend me. I sighed rather loudly. He looked up from his task, that of peeling off the maroon socks I’d consented to wear in place of the fruitier plum-colored ones I’d wanted.  


“Sir?” he asked.  


“We’re each waiting for the other to move, aren’t we?” I asked casually.  


“Sir, I’m not sure I understand you,” he replied.  


“I can’t say anything, you realize. It’s totally against the Code. Not the actions of a _pruex chevalier_ at all. Not the actions of a gentleman. And you can’t suggest, can you, not wanting to presume, or take liberties? Am I on the right path?”  


“What are you suggesting, Mr. Wooster?” he asked carefully. His eyes had narrowed to slits, and if I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did, I would have simply thought he was expressing caution or wariness. I saw the heat underneath, however, and the sudden interest.  


“That’s just it, Jeeves. I won’t suggest it. But you can take it as read that the interest is here,” I said, tapping my heart.  


“Sir, were there to be a mutual… understanding… that the feelings were returned…” he trailed off and I could tell that though he was interested, he was scared. I wondered if he’d been burned before.  


“Ours is not a unique situation, Jeeves. There are times when one would need to keep up appearances, of course, but for all intents and purposes, well, there could be a more, _equal_ , shall we say, arrangement.”  


“Equal, sir?”  


“As equal as possible. I would not expect the same from my —“ I broke off, not sure what word to use. There were so many possibilities, and for all that I knew him, I didn’t know which one he’d like. Partner. Helpmeet. Lover. Companion. Friend. “Well, I would expect something rather different from my valet, if you get my meaning.”  


“I’m not sure I do, sir,” he said, standing. I rose so that I could be at eye-level with him. Though without my shoes I was another inch shorter than him over the usual. Or is that under the usual?  


“I’m interested in commitment, Jeeves. I never plan to marry, you’ve figured that out already, but I do not envision a lone existence. There may be no legal bindings, there may be laws against it, in fact, but I would be as faithful as any husband or wife promises to be on their wedding day.”  


“Not as faithful as they are?” he wondered.  


“I have found that rarely are married individuals actually faithful to each other,” I answered blithely. “I want, and expect, more than that.”  


“It is a dangerous idea, sir.”  


“For both of us.”  


“Indeed, sir.” There was a lengthy pause. I didn’t push him. I saw him thinking, considering and discarding questions and ideas. “May one inquire as to the history of sir’s…”  


“The usual boyhood fumblings at school. A few anonymous encounters that left more to be desired than pleasure gained. Nothing for two years,” I said quickly. I’d expected the question, of course, if we ever got to talking about this. “You?”  


He shrugged, and a blush stained his cheeks. “I fear I have been more active,” Jeeves admitted reluctantly.  


“Anything I would need to know about?”  


“My companion of five years perished in the Great War, sir. He was my first, and after his death I —“  


I waited when he stopped. I thought I knew what he was about to say, but I needed him to say it.  


“I have always been careful,” he said, starting a new topic. “There have never been any suspicions. I am quite discrete.”  


“I have no doubts on that front, old thing.”  


He gave a hint of a smile. Then it faded as if it had never been there in the first place. “For several years, I took every opportunity of my evenings off to find companionship. That paled, as these things do, and it has been approximately six months since I last partook of that particular vice.” He raised his head to meet my eyes for perhaps the first time that evening. It was a bold look, though also reserved. “If my past behavior does not recommend me —“  


“Pish tosh, Jeeves. As long as there’s the agreement we discussed, I don’t think the past matters all that much. You would tell me, though, if I remind you too much of your departed friend, wouldn’t you?”  


“I would not call him a friend, sir,” Jeeves said stiffly. “He took advantage of a naive youth and held the threat of blackmail overhead to retain companionship.”  


“Oh,” I said, sitting heavily. I hadn’t expected that. “When you said companion…”  


“I was fourteen,” Jeeves said. “He was twenty. Though I was aware of my proclivities, and of the need to keep them secret, I was not ready for such a step as he took that day, and unable to stop it from continuing for fear of discovery.”  


“I say, fourteen?”  


“We are of an age, sir, you and I. I am but seven months your elder. It was,” he paused, searching for words. “It was unpleasant at first, however I grew to tolerate the experience. Since his death I have not —”  


“Say no more, Jeeves. It would be whatever is comfortable. I’ve enjoyed both roles.”  


“I would not presume to dictate —“  


“Everyone has preferences, Jeeves. It’s not dictating when there’s a conversation and agreement about it.”  


“But you are my —“  


I stood abruptly. “I will _not_ be that man, Jeeves!” I declared firmly. “I will not use my position to impose myself on you, or on anyone. If you think that of me, then perhaps we are not as suited as I would hope…”  


We stood staring at each other.  


“You will not back down from that stance, Mr. Wooster?” he asked, his voice suddenly formal.  


“The world sees what it wants to see,” I said. “It would see a man and his valet. But when we are alone, when that door is locked, we are just two men. None higher than the other in matters of the heart or body.” I paused, ready to give him my everything. I knew he was the one for me. I don’t know how I knew, but I did. And I wanted him. “You can teach me how to cook and clean, if that’s what you require. I won’t balk at the dirty tasks, though I might ask that you manage the funds. Numbers have never been good to me.”  


“You would cook and clean and share the other household tasks?” he demanded incredulously.  


“Yes,” I told him.  


“You would allow me to sleep in your bed?”  


“ _Our_ bed,” I snapped. “And it’s not about allowing. We would be equal, when not in the public eye.”  


Jeeves frowned.  


“I am accustomed to service,” he said. “It gives me pleasure to serve my master to the best of my abilities.”  


It was my turn to frown. “What are you saying, Jeeves?”  


“I enjoy being a valet, sir. I would not want to share those tasks. Knowing that I am the one to assure your comfort and happiness in all things is enough for me. I am simply astonished that you would offer to take on such activities. The idea sits poorly with me.”  


“Well, by all means, continue as my valet,” I said, waving a hand. “But we would need to be equal in the bedroom. I’m not budging on that.” I paused, looking at him with an intensity I rarely show anyone. “And you would sleep in our bed,” I finished. “Unless we’re traveling.”  


“Understood, sir,” he said softly.  


I sat in silence, contemplating all I had learned of Jeeves that afternoon and all I had said to him. After a moment, he cleared away my shoes and socks, then sat beside me. I offered my hand, but he ignored it in favor of touching my face. Together we moved to kiss.  


It was an electric kiss. I felt like a live wire had been inserted into my body, sending all my hairs to stand on end, and setting a particular piece of my anatomy to rigid attention. Jeeves, it seemed, had been similarly affected, and it did not take long for clothing to be thrown aside and hands to explore the exposed flesh. Lips followed hands, and tongues followed lips, and soon we were tasting each other, greedily demanding, begging, stroking, crying out.  


As I’d told Jeeves, it had been years since I’d participated in anything like this, but I found, unlike riding a bicycle which was always a tortuously slow lesson each time I touched the bally thing, that the acts of love came back to me as if I’d been doing them all along. Jeeves was most appreciative. And enthusiastic in giving back to the young master all the pleasure he could readily give.  


“May I call you Bertram?” Jeeves asked many hours later as we sat against the headboard of our bed, side-by-side, smoking Turkish cigarettes.  


“Of course, of course! If I can call you…”  


“Reginald,” he supplied, for we both knew I'd only ever called him Jeeves.  


“Reginald,” I repeated. “I like that.” I smiled over at him. “Will you be mine, Reginald?”  


“Until the end of our days, my dear Bertram,” he murmured, kissing me.


End file.
